


First Burn

by Femalefonzie



Series: Helpless [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Also Romeo Does Romeo Things, Angst, Angst without a happy ending, Canon Era, Cheating, F/M, Fucked Up, Heavy Angst, I Get Sad And I Wax Poetically About How Beautiful Spot Conlon Is, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, Infidelity, Jack Kelly Is The Dad Friend, Just an idiot, M/M, Race Isn't A Bad Guy Or Anything, Seriously. There's Like A Whole Two Paragraphs About How Beautiful I Think Spot Conlon Is, Soft Spot Conlon, Spot Conlon Is Human, The Brooklyn Boys Are Good Bros, This Is Why I Shouldn't Listen To A Playlist Of Just Hamilton And Newsies When Studying For Finals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Femalefonzie/pseuds/Femalefonzie
Summary: Race does something stupid and now has to face the consequences for it.Also known as: The Man Who Broke Spot Conlon's Heart
Relationships: Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins/Original Character, Spot Conlon & Hot Shot (Newsies), Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Helpless [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578820
Comments: 13
Kudos: 42





	First Burn

Jack Kelly got up with the sunrise. Most mornings, at least. It was common for him to be woken up by one of the boys rising even earlier in order to get a head start on getting ready (cough. Crutchie. cough) too, but most mornings it was the sun that woke him. Definitely not a pissed off, 6’5 boy from Brooklyn throwing rocks at the boarding house windows. 

At first he thought a bird had hit the window nearest his head. It had happened before. A while ago Romeo and Elmer and some of the littles started feeding some of the pigeons and the birds had gotten closer to the boarding house than they ever had before. One day Jack came back a bit early and found a crew of six sitting cross legged around a curious pigeon who had somehow flew inside and had taken a real shine to a pair of Albert’s spare trousers. It had taken him three hours to shoo the little bastard back outside and when Albert came home shortly after, and saw that his spare pants had tiny little holes in them, he lied and tried to blame it on moths. The clunk Jack heard by his head being the pigeon making his triumphant return made sense. And then he heard another clunk. And another. And another. And then finally a smash! Jack bolted up right and looked around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness of the room. It was hours from sunrise, the other boys were starting to stir in their bunks, and there was a large, stone sized hole in the window across from Jack on the other side of the room. “Oh shit.” He mumbled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He searched around for his shoes and pulled them on before heading over to expect the damage. Nearby Specs stirred in his bunk, “Ja-Jack what’s going on....?”

“There’s some glass on the floor here. Don’t move.” They were lucky. The shards on the floor were large enough for Jack to see and dispose of quickly. He did a double-check, just to make sure that none of the littles would be getting glass in their feet when they woke up in a few hours, and found the perpetrator of the broken window on the floor. A common rock. Jack picked it up and tried to examine it in the moonlight but there didn’t seem to be anything special about it. But then why?

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. 

A fury of rocks bounced off the sides of the boarding house and Jack hit the deck. By now the other boy’s were completely awake and firing off questions about the sudden barrage of rocks. Jack, keeping low to the floor, army-crawled his way to the center of the room while shouting for the others to get low. 

“Jack..? Jack! What’s happening?!”

“We’re under attack! Get down! Cover your heads bad stay low!” The last thing Jack wanted was to be picking glass out of any of his boys. With chaos blooming around him Jack managed to crawl his way back over to his bunk and dared a glance out the window where he’d first heard the noise. Five boys, dressed in Brooklyn colors, stood side by side hurling rocks at the side of the boarding house. Jack felt free to assume that if he looked out the other side of the building, Brooklyn boys would be over there too. Feeling confident, Jack pushed open the window and held his hands up in a sign of surrender. The Brooklyn boys lowered their rocks and allowed Jack to make his address, “Hey woah! What’s going on out there?”

A familiar face swaggered forward. Hotshot, Spot’s second in command, stepped up closer to the window and shouted up, “We’re here for Higgins! Send him out now or pay the price!”

“Higgins...” Jack cast a quick glance back over his shoulder. Race's bed was empty and made. He clearly hadn't been there since this morning which left only one possibility of where else he could be. “Race ain’t here right now. You sure he’s not in Brooklyn?”

Hotshot's face turned bright red, almost as red as the red that had come to be associated with his borough. Even from as high up as he was, Jack could see flames dancing in his eyes and suddenly he became very afraid for the safety of his fellow Manhattan newsie. “After the shit he pulled last night he better fucking not be!”

“Woah! What happened last night?” Jack asked, scanning the assembled crowd for any sign of the freckle-faced leader of Brooklyn. “Where’s Spot?”

Hotshot actually puffed out his chest and sized up, a series of actions that would have had Jack rolling on the floor with laughter if he wasn't growing increasingly fearful for what the Brooklyn boys were about to do, and if there wasn't any glass on the floor. "Back in Brooklyn where he belongs! Now mark my words Jack Kelly, that little rat Higgins steps foot in Brooklyn again and he’s a dead man!”

That was enough for Jack. The rest of the boys didn't need to here this. Jack signaled for the Brooklyn boys to wait, closed the window, and made a dash for the stairs. By the time he had reached the bottom and flung open the door, Hotshot and the others had circled around and were waiting for Jack with their arms crossed in front of their chests. They were all glaring and exchanging looks of disgust among themselves as if it physically pained them to be in Manhattan. “What did Race do?” Jack directed his question towards Hotshot who seemed to be filling in as leader for the moment. “I wanna talk to Spot!”

The other boy stepped up and jabbed an accusing finger into Jack's chest as if he was somehow the ringleader behind all of this. When he finally spoke, Hotshot's voice was a harsh growl of a whisper, "Your boy Race was caught making a fool out of our boy Spot. A crime for which the fine sons of Brooklyn will not stand."

Jack felt a lump begin to form in the back of his throat. How much of a fight could he put up against several of Spot's strongest, toughest soldiers? How quickly could the others reach him if he called for help? "What did he do?" Jack dared to ask. 

Hotshot gave a signal for the other boys to double back and give him and Jack some privacy. The boys had some knowledge of what went down the other night, but they didn't need the intimate details of the matter. It was bad enough that Hotshot knew. His voice dropped to a low whisper, "Last night Spot caught Racer necking with some girl.” 

“No way...” Jack mumbled. “You sure?”

It wasn't a secret to anyone what Race got up after he'd finished selling in Sheepshead for the day and still had a couple of hours to kill before returning to Manhattan for the night. He and Spot Conlon had been running together for some time now though when they started exactly Jack wasn't quite sure. They could have started before the strike, after the strike, maybe even during, Jack didn't really care. He had more important things to worry about then who Race chose to occupy his time with. And even if he did care, who was he to tell _Spot Conlon_ how to live his life?

“Brooklyn don’t make mistakes.” Hotshot assured him and Jack could feel another lump forking in the back of his throat. Of course they didn't. “We need Higgins. We can’t let him get away with this shit Jack-“

“Spot wants blood.” Jack scrapped together enough boldness to interrupt, an act that would usually earn him a good, strong slug to the stomach courtesy of Spot's favorite enforcer. Tonight wasn't a usual night though and Hotshot just shifted awkwardly like a child who had just been caught trying to take sweets from the cookie jar.

“Spot don’t know we’re here.” Hotshot grumbled and Jack saw several of the boys standing behind him shuffle awkwardly. “Spot’s...It doesn’t matter what Spot wants. We wants blood. Nobody pushes around one of us and gets away with it!”

“I ain’t surrendering one of my boys over to you so you can beat the shit outta him.” Beat the shit out of him at best. “Give me some time. I’ll talk to Race and figure this shit out.”

“Fine.” This time it was another newsie that piped up; one who had been circling Jack since he stepped outside to confront the assault against the boarding house. Jack thought his name may have been York or something? Kid looked older, closer to Hotshot in age than to Spot, and had an eye-patch that reminded Jack a lot of Blink's. York spit on the ground next to him, an act that Jack was sure was meant to convey his own personal disgust with the situation and not out of some necessity. Out of the corner of his eye Jack could have sworn he saw Hotshot flash the other boy a concerned look but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “In the meantime Manhattan is banned from Brooklyn. All of yous. We catch any Manhattan boys over on our side, and we’ll soak ‘em. Capiche?”

“No.” Jack stated firmly, taking a couple of steps towards York before being stopped by a living wall of Brooklyn newsies. That wasn't going to deter Jack any though. He found the shortest link in the chain and yelled over the boy's shoulder, "I demand an audience with Spot! Let me talk to him and then you can set up your wall!"

“Spot will come to you.” York promised him. Oh, what Jack wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall for the conversation. _Hey Spot. We know you're leader and anything but we just got back from heading over to Manhattan, against your wishes, to threaten your boyfriend and his friends for cheating on you. Anyways can you please meet with Jack tomorrow night?_ “As of this moment Brooklyn is off limits to any Manhattan newsie.” 

~~~

It was two hours before sunrise when Race finally came slinking back into the Lower Manhattan boarding house with his cap turned backwards, his vest inside out, and his bag still slung over his shoulder from when he was selling earlier. The boarding house was completely dark, silent, so Race took his time climbing the stairs, making sure to avoid the squeaky stairs and keep the noise down. Imagine his surprise when he found Jack leaning against the railing waiting for him at the top in complete and utter darkness. “You’re getting in late.” Jack greeted him, “Long night?”

Race just grinned and adjusted his vest, “I had some fine company and lost track of time. It happens.”

Something flashed in Jack's eyes that sent a shiver rolling down Racetrack's spine. He had only seen it a couple of times before, namely when Snyder had been hauled off to the slammer, and it was something he'd happily live to a 100 without wanting to see it again. Some smug satisfaction, a sense that he knew something that you didn't, some malicious joy that he'd finally won, finally caught you red-handed. Race had no idea why Jack would give him that look but then his fearless leader spoke and everything became far too clear, "And just what was the nice lady’s name?”

“Who said it was a lady?” Race asked a little too quickly than he should have. He knew he wasn't looking good, like a cat backed up against the wall, but what else could he say? 

Jack wasn't backing down. “Why, Hotshot did. When he and York and a bunch of other Brooklyn boys launched a full scale assault on the boarding house!”

“What?”

“They said you’d dishonored their leader! It took me forever to calm them down enough to get them to leave, and even then they were still demanding your head!” Jack was close to shouting now and if it wasn't for the conveniently timed /Yelp/ of one of their fellow newsies rolling out of bed followed by a thud as he hit the floor, Jack wouldn't have remembered that the walls had ears and to watch himself. The more people who knew about this, the worse of Race (and the rest of the boarding house for that matter) were. “What did you do Race? What did you do?”

“...I hadn’t planned on nothing Jack, honest.” Race had not left that morning with a plan to cheat. In hindsight, he didn't think anyone did. Not the first time anyway. Maybe after a while, a few months of convincing themselves that all their trysts were one-time things and that hey would do better, it would hit them that they were just scumballs looking for a way our. Well, not Race! He wasn't like that! Those words became a mantra in his head. _He wasn't like that. He wasn't like that. He wasn't like that. He loved Sean. He loved Sean. He loved Sean_. “Her name was Barbara and we used to live next door to each other. When my parents were still alive and all. I hadn’t seen her since I was younger than Les and we just ran into each other on the street and...”

Jack put his hand up and waved, signalling for the other boy to stop talking. “Hotshot said Spot caught you with a woman but he didn’t say what he caught you doing. Did you sleep with her?” Race said nothing but he suddenly became very interested in his shoes, the floorboards, the nasty old rug, anything that would mean avoiding making eye contact with his leader. "Christ Race...”

“I don’t love her or nothing Jack, honest! Not like Spot! Not at all like Spot! It just happened. We started talking, and she mentioned that she was getting married soon, and I told her I used to really like her a lot and...and....-“ Was it really his fault if Barbara started it? If she, in the comfort of her own home were the two were able to alone, placed her hand on his leg and whispered in a longing tone how much she missed having him around when they were growing up, how much she missed him, how big her crush on him used to be, and how handsome he had become in the years that had passed since they had last spoken to each other. Was it really his fault if Barbara kissed him first? If she hiked her skirts up and straddled him against the back of the fancy couch her daddy had imported form Europe, grinding against him and moaning? What type of man could reject that? And from Barbara O'Neely of people! Barbara who had grown from a little red headed girl with frizzy pigtails and a devious smirk into an Auburn haired Aphrodite, with smooth, slender legs and arms, curved to die for, breasts that would put the girls at Medda's theater to shame... Barbara O'Neely who was, in almost every way the opposite of Race's current paramour. He thought of Spot, truly thought of his freckle-faced king, for the first time all day and a sharp pain surged through his chest. “I didn’t mean it."

Jack just scoffed. "Tell that to Spot Conlon.” The leader of the Manhattan newsies allowed his mind to wander for a brief moment to what was happening at that exact moment across the Hudson. Had York and Hotshot broke the news yet to Spot or was he still in the dark, no doubt cementing himself behind another fresh layer of concrete walls? No. York and Hotshot had to have made it back by now. “I demanded an audience with him later. You’re going to talk to him, see if you can at least get him to make his boys let you back in Brooklyn.”

Race's eyes widened to an almost comical size, “They’re kicking me out of Brooklyn?” He asked. “They can’t do that! I love Brooklyn! I love-“

“You hurt their leader Antonio.” And it was their turf. Spot Conlon's boys could do whatever they wanted to over there. Jack sighed and ran a head across his forehead, feeling a bit overheated. Sure enough he was sweating. Not even sunrise and he was already too damn warm. Jack turned and carefully opened the bedroom door, hoping to keep the other boys asleep and out of the conversation. Before retiring for the night Jack stopped and cast one more quick look back over his shoulder at Race still standing at the top of the stairs, “I am so disappointed in you.” 

~~~

Jack handled everything and though Race knew he should have been grateful for being spared a face to face confrontation with Hotshot or York or whoever was sent over to deal with the Manhattanites he couldn't help but feel useless. How did all of this look from the eyes of Brooklyn? Fearless Jack Kelly, with his heart bigger than his brain, running through hoops to keep the little rat Higgins, hiding behind his legs like a startled toddler, safe. More than once he thought about crossing the bridge and taking whatever punishment Spot's boys handed out to him. At least then he could say without any hesitation that he had tried to run towards his problems instead of away from them. But Jack wouldn't let him and, truth be told, if it had been one of the younger boys like Romeo or Elmer who had done such a thing, Race wouldn't have let them go either. The politics of the street were messy and complicated but they were there and they had to be upheld. So Race took a step back and watched Jack, the closest thing he had to an older brother, run between Manhattan and Brooklyn to speak with the other borough and hammer out the details and, with every return from across the river, Race saw the disapproval grow more and more in Jack Kelly's eyes and felt his hope at salvaging what he had with Spot diminish further and further. 

Jack wasn't the only boy struggling to hide his disappointment in Race. It wasn't a secret that everyone in New York City feared the Brooklyn newsies and what they were capable of. Spot's reputation didn't take a hit and everyone was still afraid that he would smash their heads in for stepping out of line. What had changed in their minds was Race. Sure, everyone knew he was a thief. Everyone knew that he lied. Everyone knew that he played with loaded dice and marked cards but this was a different kind of cheating. The kind that made it hard to look a person in the eyes afterwards. Race noticed the change the morning after he was confronted by Jack. The other boys weren't supposed to know but the walls of the boarding house were thin and word traveled fast. Mush and Blink stopped mid-conversation when Race came back from the bathroom and watched with dead eyes as he grabbed his hat and left. He could hear them resume talking from the hall. Albert didn't touch his stuff. When Race woke that morning his cigars were as neat as when he stashed them without a single one unaccounted for. As everyone was gathering outside to head out to the square, Race overheard Romeo and Specs whispering to Crutchie.

"-Jack's really not selling here today?" Specs asked and Crutchie nodded grimly,

"He thinks hes going to be in Brooklyn all day."

Romeo cocked an eyebrow, "Why can't Race go? It's his fault."

Crutchie just sighed, "You know why Race can't go. Let's just try not to think about it and try to sell as much as we can. We can give the extra to Jack so he gets something to eat."

Not sending the doom and gloom between the other two boys Romeo, with a wild grin, asked, "So if Jack isn't able to patch things up between Spot and Race, think that means that Spot is available?"

"No." Specs said firmly. "No. I'm putting the stop to that before it happens. No."

"I'm more worried about a turf war between Manhattan and Brooklyn than getting Spot Conlon a new date, Romeo." Crutchie added with an eye-roll.

Race's stomach was knots. Bad enough he was sending Jack to fight his battles but he was yanking the food out of his friend's mouth to do so? And what the fuck were Crutchie and Romeo talking about, getting Spot another date?! The thought of Sean leaving him for someone else made Race nauseous which only triggered another wave of guilt. He and Spot were still (technically) together and Spot hadn't had time to go out and meet someone. This person didn't exist and yet the thought of them with their arms draped over Spot, kissing his lips, made Race sick. He hadn't caught his paramour in the act like Spot had done! If wanting to vomit was how Race reacted to Spot and a fictional character, what was going through the other boy's head when he rounded a corner in Manhattan on his way to surprise his sweetheart only to see him leaving some women's house with a kiss?! The more he thought about it the worse Race felt. 

Luckily he didn't have to wait much longer. Jack, as he had suspected, returned that night without a single pape sold but with a time and a place. A couple hours later after the sun had gone down and his fellow newsies had started to head to bed, Race left the boarding house and headed downtown towards the Brooklyn bridge. There was a park nearby where he could see people coming and going (not that there were many of those this time of night) and a quiet place for him to sit down and wait. Race room a seat on an empty bench that looked somewhat stable and debated fishing the cigar he brought with him (for comfort) out of his pocket to light up. Somewhere along the line Race had started to drift off. He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until a familiar voice coming from behind him jerked the Manhattan boy out of a sound slumber.

“I was told Jack would be here.”

“You know Jack. Always three moves ahead of everybody else.” Race turned around to great the other boy and felt his blood run cold at the very sight of him. "Jesus Spot, what happened?”

There were bags under Spot's eyes. Not the kind you would get from one night of bad sleep, the kind that came from nights of insomnia. He looked thinner somehow. Either that or he was wearing a larger shirt. It looked like he was drowning in a sea of off-red stripes. This wasn't the Spot Conlon the king, feared through the five boroughs, respected by all, this was Spot Conlon the kid, actually showing some vulnerability for once. Why did it sting Race to see him like this? "I ain’t been sleeping so good lately.” Spot shrugged it off. “It’s nothing.” 

He was lying. One of the few skills Race had developed in life that could be considered usual was his uncanny ability to pick on other people's tells after spending just a few hours with them. It didn't help him as much as he wished it would when it came to poker, but it was helpful in conversations like this. Spot's nose twitched when he lied. Not in an oblivious way that was clear if you looked for it. Just a quick twitch, hard to miss, kind of like when someone blinked. Invisible to the naked eye but Race could see it and Spot's nose definitely twitched just then. He wasn't going to push the matter, though. If Spot said that he was okay then Race was going to have to take his word for it. At least for the time being. “So...” Race drawled out and leaned back against the bench which creaked and protested against his weight. “I guess I should explain myself.” 

“I guess you should.” Spot said and took the empty seat next to Race on the bench. “What’s her name?”

“Barbara O’Neely.” No point in keeping it a secret. Spot already knew everything he needed to. And even if he didn't Rave would rather get it off his chest. The Italian-American managed to crack a small smile and playfully nudged the other boy, "I think I have a thing for the Irish.” 

Spot didn't laugh. Race didn't know why he thought he would laugh. Maybe he was just hoping for some kind of response, something that hinted that they could get out of this in one piece. Either way Race's smile faltered and he took a cautious step to the side before continuing his explanation, this time with no dumb jokes or poor attempts to lighten the conversation, "...I knew her when we were little and I think she was just looking for a last bit of freedom before tying the knot. I swear Spot I never meant for it to happen-“

Spot held up a hand and Race went silent. “I could believe that if it was just a kiss.” The shorter of the two boys said. “You met her on the street, and you were so excited to see each other after so long, that I could see just happening. You fucked that girl Antonio. That takes time. You could have stopped when you were taking her clothes off or your clothes off, or when you were making out, or whenever. You had tons of time to stop and think about it but you let it happen. It didn’t just happen, you sat back and let it happen.” 

Race didn't say anything. For once in his life he couldn't think of something to say. He just stared out ahead, waiting for something to happen. Spot sighed a little and reached over into the breast pocket of Race's shirt, pulling out the cigar he had swiped from some rich guy while he was passing through the Chelsea on his way back to the lodging house. The king of Brooklyn produced a match from his own pocket, lit it, and took a very long drag from the cigar before passing it over to Race, "Was it a good lay?” he asked.

Barbara didn't know what she was doing but lord did she try. Looking back, Race wasn't sure if he could say she even climaxed. There was the real possibility that Barbara had just faked it to get Race out of the apartment and on his way. “No.” 

That comment earned him a chuckle from the Irish boy but it was not one of earnest. It sounded bitter and left Race feeling like he had been slapped across the face. He would have eagerly traded for the latter. “You bet on the wrong horse Antonio.” Spot said, shaking his head. “...I told the boys to ease off and let you be.”

“Really?” Race hadn't been expecting that. Not that he had been expecting Spot to soak him himself, but he had at least imagined that the Brooklyn boys would have free range to distribute any punishment they felt necessary. Brooklyn did, after all, have a reputation to uphold. “Spot I-“

Spot shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah, you’re not worth doing time in the refuge over.”

That one stung. Any relief Race had felt during their conversation, any hope he had for the future had been flushed out of him and the Italian boy just stood there staring at his paramour struggling to think of what to say next. "Spot...”

“You don’t get it do you?” Spot asked and he raised his voice. He wasn't yelling (yet) but Race would have preferred him to be. When Spot was yelling his anger was in control, fueling his actions and decisions, but he could be calmed down. When Spot was this quiet, his thunderous roars replaced by precise hissing and jabs, there was no calming him. Spot was in control of his anger, not blinded by it, and he knew exactly what he was saying. “You only get one chance with Spot Conlon. One chance to impress him, one chance at being his friend, one chance at being more. You blow it and that’s the end of the line for you. There will never be another chance.” 

“Please don’t say that-“

“It’s true.” Spot interrupted him and Race took the cue to listen. “Now, I’m not gonna chase you out of Brooklyn every day but I want you to remember this is my borough. The boys around here are loyal to me. While I’m not giving them orders to soak you, I can’t guarantee that they won’t go rogue. You take your chances at the races, I can’t guarantee it’ll work out.”

“The races...” One of the few things Race truly loved in his life. The racetrack, his namesake, his little patch of heaven in the ever expanding concrete jungle. What would he be without them? “Please Sean-“

“ ** _Spot_**.” That word had never carried such weight, such a sharp edge. Hearing that word, to Race, felt like being slapped across the face. “You don't get to call me Sean. You call me Spot.” 

“Spot, I’m sorry! I am so damn sorry Spot! You can’t do this to me please! I love you!”

“Where was that love for me when you were fucking her?” Spot asked and Race couldn't think of an answer. It was still there. He knew it was still there just by looking at Spot now. Spot Conlon with his big beautiful doe eyes, galaxies of freckles, the body of some Greek hero...Spot Conlon who commanded respect, whose name was feared on the streets, despite Spot standing at only 5'4 and having a gap in his front teeth that made him look far younger than he actually was. Spot Conlon whose smile could make flowers bloom, who snorted when he laughed too hard, who always would wrap his arms around Race's waist and bury his face into the other boy's neck whenever they were alone. Ever since they had been going together Race found it difficult to sleep without the feeling of Spot's breath on the back of his neck or the weight on his chest whenever Spot had a particularly bad nightmare and wanted to snuggle closer. What would Race do without their viewings of the stars from the Brooklyn bridge late at night when everyone else had gone to bed and the city was quiet for once? For once someone would let Race rant about the constellations and his knowledge of Greek mythology without interrupting. Spot would just let him talk and listen to him as if he was spouting the secrets to human life. He looked at Race with a softness that had never been awarded to anyone else in all the time that Race had known him. His walls came down, the king was gone, and the kid stood in his place. But that gentle spark was all but extinguished from Spot's eyes now. Gone without time to mourn. Spot sighed and looked back across the bridge home. “...There was a time when I would have left Brooklyn forever to be with you. And now I don’t think I’m ever going to leave the borough again. Why would a king sacrifice his kingdom for someone who couldn’t even keep him in his heart?" 

And with that Spot tucked his hands into his pockets and began the long, cold walk back to his kingdom across the east river. Race stood there for awhile, silent, chewing on the end of the last cigar he would ever share with Spot and watching him go. It wasn't until Spot was completely gone from sight did Race realize that he had been crying. He wiped his eyes off on his sleeve and took one last glance in the direction the other boy had gone but there was nothing. Spot wasn't coming back. Race turned around and started walking back towards the lodging house. Everyone was going to be waking up soon.

**Author's Note:**

> So a couple of things:  
> 1) I tried not to use the term 'boyfriend' when Race and Spot were referring to each other. I'm not sure if that term would have been applicable in 1899 and even if it was, I don't think that Race and Spot would have used that label. I think lover or paramour would be something they'd use so that's what I used.  
> 2) I think I shouldn't have watched a bunch of Tommy Bracco videos while writing this. I got too emotional over how beautiful he is. You can tell.  
> 3) My original title for this was The Man Who Broke Spot Conlon and I wanted to style it into a kind of urban legend-y thing. Like the other newsies kind of make Spot out to be this etheral being of pure rage but he's not. He's just a kid. He has feelings and he can get hurt and that was what I wanted to focus on here. Also I don't know much about canon ages. Most of the stuff I see with Spot tend to have him between 14-16 so I split the difference and wrote him as 15.  
> 4) I love Race. Nothing against Race. It's just all the cheating fics I've seen with Spot have him being the cheater and again I wanted to explore that element of Spot being the one who gets hurt. Like, kid has issues, he has these walls he built around himself and the one time he let someone in, they hurt him. Tell me that's not an interesting concept.  
> 5) I'm debating continuing this. Like part of me wants to write a chapter where Race tries to win Spot back but Spot's moved on, part of me wants to write the events from Spot's perspective (him finding Race with Barbara), part of me wants to write a scene where it's been years and they've both grown up and maybe Spot's leaving New York and this is the last time Race will ever see him and even though it's been years he still loves Spot but that moment for them to be together is over and done, and a part of me wants to write a happy ending where the Manhattan boys and the Brooklyn boys, seeing how miserable Race and Spot are without each other, try to get them to make up. I don't know. May happen, may not. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
